St Stephen's Cross
by WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: An alternate confession scene between Chase and Cameron, facing the events of The Tyrant.


_**St. Stephen's Cross**_

_She was there the night the wall came down._ She held the remnants of their broken marriage in her hand – a set of diamond rings, and a scrap of paper reading _'Not Stolen'_ in a lazy scrawl – and watched as a soft dusting of snow settled over the ground. There was nothing left; only lies and silence, and Christmas dinner long gone cold out on the kitchen table – nothing.

When her phone buzzed in her pocket, she almost didn't answer, didn't bother to look. It would be easier that way, she told herself. She could be gone before he even made it home. It would be fair, to leave without explanation. It would be fair. But she fished her phone out anyway, and regarded the text message with a sort of wary curiosity.

"_Allison- Wait up for me?"_

It wouldn't matter. She'd felt him retreating for weeks – fingers slipping from her hand like grains of sand. But she waited, turning the old, familiar note over in her hands, and watched the clock encroach on midnight.

When he finally came home – keys clattering as he dropped them onto the table – she was surprised. Chase was always one for grand romantic gestures – no mistake on his part was complete without a freshly cut bouquet of flowers, and some shy apology.

But this time was different.

He came home empty-handed, just as disheveled as he'd been for longer than she could remember. "Hi," he breathed, the drunken drawl to which she'd become so accustomed curiously absent, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," she replied, but couldn't gather the energy to stand, and merely peered at him from her spot on the couch.

"I . . . can't do this anymore," he said, and lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

Silence. And she wondered whether she should laugh or cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"I killed him," he said suddenly, and his voice trembled. "Dibala – I killed him."

"You – what? No. What are you talking about?"

Choking, he struggled to explain, "I faked the test. He didn't – we could have saved him. But I-"

"No, you didn't," she cut him off, frowning. "I ran the test. Robert, what the _fuck_ is going on?"

"I killed him!" he practically yelped. "I took that blood from a corpse so it would test positive."

Blinking, she felt the world falling down around her – spinning, tumbling on end. "The blood – the blood you gave me?"

"I told Foreman you had nothing to do with it," he replied.

"_Foreman?_" she gaped. "Foreman knew?"

He continued on, hardly even acknowledging her presence, just tumbling through revelations as quickly as he could – he rehearsed this. "I went to confession," he said, wiping uselessly at his eyes. "Every fucking week and . . . and nothing."

Silence.

"I can't live with this," he admitted finally. "I'm sorry, I just . . . I can't. I'm turning myself in. Wanted to tell you first."

And he was gone.

It took her mind a minute to adjust to this, to wrap around this piece of information that could send her world tumbling in a way she never could have imagined. This was it – the answer to all her questions. Everything could be okay again now. Everything was okay.

But it wasn't.

And she realized this just as she jumped to her feet and barely managed to slip on her shoes before rushing outside without her jacket, shivering as the snow landed on her bare arms. Fumbling for her keys, she clambered into her car and turned the ignition. She couldn't let him do this, she couldn't-

And the car wouldn't start, sputtering exhaustedly at her at her every failed attempt. "Fuck!" she cursed, and smacked the steering wheel before rushing out on foot, dropping her keys in a freshly forming snowdrift by the sidewalk.

She didn't know where she was going, or which direction he'd gone before her; the snow swiftly covering any footprints as quickly as they were made. "Chase!" she called, and her voice echoed back at her through the hollow night. "Robert! Dammit, Chase, don't do this!"

She ran until she could no longer feel her fingers or toes, and her hair hung in freezing damp tendrils against her back. Tears were pricking her eyes, and she could taste blood as she bit her lip, stomach twisting as she felt her life slip away from her; her feet dragging as she turned the corner.

She found him standing in the street, just past the corner of Alexander and County Road, staring up at the ornate walls of Trinity Church, hands open at his sides; waiting. Her mouth opened, but no words came forth, and she could only stop and watch him, shivering, from the sidewalk.

He bowed his head, and she rounded on him, thumbs brushing over the tears on his cheeks as she pulled him into her arms, leaning up to close her mouth over his – the hot taste of his breath contrasting against the icy chill of his lips. A moment passed, and they stayed like this, until – finally – she felt the tension in his muscles release, and he melted into her embrace, trembling arms snaking round her waist and holding tightly. And she held him, fingers stroking over the back of his neck even as the snow continued to fall.

"_She found him standing, looking lost, in the shadow of St. Stephen's Cross. And he closed his eyes and heard no sound, but her breathing warm against his mouth."_

_~Vienna Teng_


End file.
